


and what a feeling it was

by saintofnovember



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2019 canon, Character Study, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 00:09:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21065501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintofnovember/pseuds/saintofnovember
Summary: phil contemplates his and dan's relationship and his own relationship with emotion.this is a companion fic to "and what stars they were" which i wrote from dan's perspective. both fics are just introspective about their own struggles and desires, and are independent of each other. however, i did write this one as a complement to the aforementioned one.i really like exploring people's personalities, so consider this a character study, if you will. :)





	and what a feeling it was

It was at these times that Phil felt the most human.

When emails and dates and deadlines and twitter had tugged at the corners of his brain for months, when they had been a whirlwind, a storm, a never-ending cycle of _the next city, the next video, the next show_ without looking back－

Now, it was just them. In the backseat of a red rental car. With a sibling, a soon-to-be sibling, and a map in the front of the car. They trundled along, on the way to nowhere and everywhere.

He was so human.

Time slowed to only this second, skipping, tripping back, replaying it, reusing this one moment, over and over and over.

It was exhilarating and terrifying. He was lost in the universe, floating, at ease and overflowing with potential energy.

When he looked lazily over at Dan, it was every firework he had ever felt, every elevator trip that left his stomach just half a floor above, every time he stepped onstage. Dan was an earthquake, a lightning bolt, an untouchable star. And yet here he was. Head pressed back into the grey fabric of the backseat, check pressed into the window and flushed from the heat, curls tousled, mouth slightly agape.

It took Phil a moment to restart his heart.

He looked _happy_. Now, even in his sleep.

It ached, to look at Dan like this, pressed up against the window of a rental car, somewhere between Los Angeles and New Mexico. The road flew on through the window next to him, blurring into one rock, one stunted cactus, one beige line that began at the sea, and would run on uninterrupted until another. Dan’s face stood out from the monochrome fading light, at peace. His lips were impossibly pink.

Phil was so human.

There was a physical feeling in his heart, so purposeful and sharp it was painful. It took him a moment to realize there was a tear tracking down his cheek.

Dan cracked open an eye, only enough to gauge the fading light, to see it splash across the dashboard, Martyn’s face, and Cornelia’s hair. The map.

Then his eye caught Phil’s and gave him an involuntary, honeyed smile. It spoke of half-dreamed kisses and polaroid sunsets, stolen moments in saffron-coloured months and air-conditioned bathrooms.

Phil gave him his best watery smile in return. For just a moment, it was too much. The way the light lit Dan’s face, golden, a statue, an idol, a king. The way Dan’s smile cracked, just upon finding he was still in the car, Phil next to him. 

Another tear chased the first to the bottom of his chin, and hung there, trembling, until it fell; the light filtering in from the windshield got dimmer, and the summer spell was broken.

Dan squinted, yawned, and stretched what parts of him would elongate inside the back of this small vehicle. When he opened his eyes again, he looked towards Phil as a weathervane towards the wind.

Sometimes, when Phil was alone in his room, or on the tube, surrounded by enough people for him to be alone again, he thought about his brain. He thought about the way it didn’t work like Dan’s did, or other people’s seemed to. He was more detached, more objective about his feelings- processing the shape of them and their relation to others more than their weight or volume.

Phil thought it might be a glitch.

He was so much more washed out, detached from his emotions than Dan was. It didn’t occur to him as a problem until he was confronted with other people’s feelings. How they were sure of their sadness, their shame, their joy, their fear. He was so unsure. Was it happiness he felt, right now, in the back of this car? Or was it a product of his surroundings, of his situation, of his various choices of the day? His analysis broke them down into manageable components, reactants of an unknown equation with un-measurable products.

But here, in the back of the car, he was too drunk on the heady weight of feeling that didn’t need a name, that had never had one. It was looking at the stars, and feeling so full of something that you felt you would burst. It was biting into a peach in summertime, a sip of warm coffee in the winter. It was every time Phil looked at Dan in the back of an uber on the way home from an event, or bleary-eyed over their breakfast table.

Here, in the back of the car, Dan (_impossible, impossible Dan_) reached for Phil’s face. Phil watched him, unmoving. The seconds took as long as they needed to. Dan’s thumb brushed the tear track at Phil’s chin. He turned his wrist, and he was holding Phil, for just a second.

And Phil was looking into those eyes that won hearts and started wars and quenched deserts, and into the eyes that had seen him when he had been broken, when he had been scared, when he had been the king of the clouds.

He was overwhelmed. There was so much stardust in the world, and it all, all, was right here, in this man’s gaze. His man’s gaze. He was so thankful.

Dan lifted his fingers away, gently, carefully, and rested them on the seat between them. Both their eyes tracked their progress. Phil slid his fingers across the seat to meet Dan’s, and when they touched, he was no longer Phil, endless, fickle being, he was Phil, sitting next to Dan, trundling towards the sunset, in the backseat of a red rental car. He closed his eyes and slid his hand into Dan’s.

He could be human. It didn’t matter that he felt like an imposter most days. He could be human. He could have this. He was allowed. To feel.

To feel the way Dan's hand covered his, thumb rubbing over knuckles in just the way that quieted his mind immediately. To feel the way Dan's eyes must have been made of stars, for the way they burned his.

And what a feeling it was, to look and see light for years.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! it really means a lot. leave a comment and a kudos if you so wish!
> 
> you can find me on my art instagram @apricotsaint and on my writing instagram @aecaeles, and on tumblr @eganantiquus
> 
> stay safe, darlings, you are loved.


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